Author: Sam

Story: Speed Trap: 17 of 23

Series: Speed-Burn

Setting: September 20, 2005: Miami: afternoon

Note: Shanghaied is originally a term for “clubbing someone over the head and dragging him into service for the Navy”. It can be used for any form of “service against one’s will”.

Feedback: Yes, please? Especially constructive. samwise_baggins@yahoo.co.uk

Webpage: http://www.geocities.com/samwise_baggins/index.html

“You’re only my brother by default!” Dark eyes flashing what could only be called an unholy fire, the dark-haired boy waved a pair of lethal looking scissors through the air, unheeding that he’d come extremely close to the infant crying in the bassinet. “I was here first; you’re just the after-birth!” The boy grinned maliciously and added, “Everyone thinks you’re so perfect, but I’ll show them perfect!” His scissors, now quite under control, came closer to the infant. “Just keep crying, Brat!”

“No!”

Joe startled awake, looking around in dread as he felt the world shift and sway around him.

“Shit, Joe!” Aiden’s voice brought him dazedly back to reality, and he blinked at the sexy brunette. She was trying to regain control of the Hummer; he’d apparently startled her pretty badly during his nightmare. Still pissed, Aiden’s Brooklyn accent came out heavier than normal. “What the hell was that all about?”

“Sorry,” he muttered, looking around again, “Nightmare.”

With a snort, Aiden regained the road and continued driving into the gale-force winds and rain; it hadn’t entirely been Joe’s scream that had sent her nearly off-road. In fact, the closer they got to the Miami area, the worse the weather was. One could only imagine the pounding the Keys and Cuba were receiving from the hurricane.

Turning her head very briefly to check on him, Aiden looked back at the road. “Try to stay awake, then. I don’t need that kind of shit when I’m driving through a hurricane.” Joe instantly recalled her annoyance at finding he didn’t have a driver’s license, but his mind was brought sharply back to the present when he suddenly realized they were actually entering Miami proper. The memories started flooding back.

Doing a mental count, Joe realized with some surprise, and not too little dark humor, that it was a year to the day of the shooting that had changed his life.

“Dead, I can’t… man, minding your own business, then, wham! Dead!”

Danny had been going on and on about the death toll of law enforcement and how unfair it was for the entire drive to Miami. Normally, after such a lengthy monologue, Mac would have been crawling the walls. This one, he’d let continue, though, as Danny needed to vent about the shock of losing yet another cop in the line of duty. Mac silently agreed that police work was too dangerous for normal people; that was why the police had such extensive training in self-defense and teamwork.

“Damn!”

Mac hadn’t needed Danny’s expletive to alert him to the swerving Hummer in front of them. He slammed on the brakes and jerked the wheel so he headed into the median, feeling the rougher terrain under their own vehicle. What the hell is happening up there? Mac’s first thought was that Aiden lost control in the weather, but a niggling worry that Joe had attacked her crept in. Too late he realized he should have been the one partnering Joe on this trip; he’d grown too used to having Aiden do it whenever she was available at the lab.

In the rearview mirror, Mac caught a sight of Stella calmly directing her own rental Hummer towards the shoulder, thus avoiding hitting Mac if he came to a stop.

After only a few minutes, Mac realized Aiden had her vehicle under control, and he pulled back onto the interstate. Stella joined them a heartbeat later, and the small caravan made its way into the Miami city limits. Mac kept as close an eye as he could on the lead Hummer while still fighting the storm. He didn’t question how Aiden knew where the Crime Lab they had to report to was; apparently Joe was giving directions, lending credence to his claim that he’d lived down here.

The head of the New York City Crime Lab was more certain by the hour that he had Caine’s supposedly dead CSI, Tim Speedle, working for him in a protected capacity. The main questions were: why was Speedle in protective custody, had he lied when he’d claimed he wasn’t TJ Spedelli the Tangelwood Boy, and, if he was who he really claimed to be, why the close resemblance to a hood Danny was terrified of?

Hopefully the Miami-Dade Crime Lab would provide the answers he sought.

It had been a long morning, and promised to be an equally long afternoon, as the Miami team worked to not only finish prepping the lab for after-Hurricane duties, but also tried to continue their search for Speed’s past. A week before, they had each been given assignments pertaining to that goal, and so far, none had anything to report worthwhile. Their regular duties had kept them far too busy to do as much checking as they would have liked.

Fortunately, the preparations were well under control and Horatio had just had a heads-up that he was receiving a few CSI’s to help after the hurricane. Other areas were receiving the bulk of volunteers, but to have even the five he’d been assigned would help with any of the typical rescues and crimes that came with natural disasters. The help would free up his hard-worked team just enough to be able to get some rest, and possibly, after Hurricane Rita was off the radar, they might be able to get back to their investigation.

That time actually came sooner than Horatio had expected.

Striding into the trace lab, the redhead moved towards the corner reserved specifically for their private investigation. Eric was already there, checking over the files with Calleigh. Horatio smiled as they looked up and stopped to the right of them, smiling towards the pair with his head slightly cocked.

He didn’t even have to prompt as Delko said “Nothing on the tattoo, H. No one recognized him and only one person recognized the tattoo, but he refused to say anything about it, except that it was a New York special.”

Calleigh opened her mouth to add her news but Ryan interrupted from the doorway, “Tanglewood is the name of a New York gang.” The petite blonde closed her mouth, eyes widening as the dark-haired investigator moved to join them by the time line. Surprisingly, Alexx Woods followed him in; no one challenged her.

Ryan pointed to the colored flag for Speed’s missing teenaged summers. “His sixteenth birthday written on the tattoo doesn’t have anything to do with the Tanglewood Jazz Festival. In 1989, that didn’t start until June 30th, a week after his birthday.” Ryan turned his dark eyes on the rest of the team. “But I did wonder if it had some significance in New York, instead, since that’s where he went for the summers. During my search, I came across a gang called the Tanglewood Boys out of Staten Island; they do recruiting for the Mafia.”

The news was not what they’d wanted to hear. No matter how much they searched, Stetler seemed to be able to link Speed with gun running, and with a Mafia gang tattoo as prime evidence, it looked like Horatio’s team might have just lost the chance to clear their friend’s name.

Alexx frowned. “Timmy wouldn’t have been in a gang unless he were Shanghaied.” Her voice was firm.

“Is it possible that Speedle was two different people?” Everyone looked at Ryan, Eric frowning. The younger man clarified, “We’ve had a couple of cases of split personalities, and people with split personalities are often unaware of their other halves.”

Eric shook his head vehemently. “Speed was sane, Wolfe.”

“As an investigator, he’d have to pass psychological tests to get on the team.” Calleigh’s voice was matter-of-fact. “If his personality split after he was already on the team, then why a tattoo with his sixteenth birthday?”

Curiously, Alexx asked, “Was Tim right-handed or left-handed?”

“Right-handed,” came Delko’s immediate response. With a little bit of thought, Calleigh and Horatio were able to back that statement up. Alexx nodded. “I thought so.”

She headed over to the autopsy photos and pulled up the ones displaying Speed's trunk and arms. “The body I did the autopsy on was left-handed.” She turned to face them. “The musculature of his left arm was more developed, the bones a bit larger. I recorded the discrepancy in my notes, since I’d thought he was right-handed.”

“Well, that is a puzzle.” Horatio’s soft voice drawled into the conversation at last. He looked over the pictures, the time line, and the notes they had posted. “What about the appendectomy, Alexx? Did we find anything else about that?”

“Nothing, Horatio,” the woman sighed and ran a hand through her hair, looking over the related picture. “I even broke down and asked his mother if he’d had surgery. She swore he’d never had one, had been in perfect health.”

Calleigh jumped in finally. “His brother, Thomas, had an appendectomy.”

All eyes turned to the blonde woman and she gestured to the record in front of her. “I remembered that Tim mentioned a brother, so I thought I’d check to see how he was doing. I called his mother, too,” she glanced at Alexx, “she must’ve been shocked by all of the sudden interest in her sons.” With a blue marking pen, she started writing on the time line. “She told me his brother, Matthew, was born thirteen years after Tim, and that he was living in Syracuse in perfect health. I got ahold of him to verify, and she was right.”

“Speedle’s record only lists a Matthew, but not a Thomas. Who’s the Thomas with the appendectomy?” Ryan had pulled the unattended record over to follow along with Calleigh’s biographical explanation.

“He died.” She turned her blue eyes on the waiting team then turned back to the time line on the lit wall. “Tim never mentioned him, even in his files, and his parents didn’t say anything about him either. However, when I called Matthew, he said, and I quote, ‘It’s a shame Tim’s dead. He was always the nice one.’ I asked what he meant and he told me that Speed was a twin, second born, and the older twin was named Thomas. He’d died in New York City when they were seventeen. Speed and his parents never talked about him after Speed came home that summer and told them his brother had died.” She looked back away from the time line, at her friends. “Matthew didn’t know how he died, though.”

“A twin?” Alexx was shocked. Tim had never said anything to her, never said anything about a brother dying at all. In all those years she’d known the man she’d never truly known the inner depths, had she? Brown eyes closing in refreshed grief at the loss, at the missed chance to possibly help Tim with a loss he sounded like he’d been denying for a long time, Alexx let herself sink back against the layout table.

Horatio thought carefully, absently twirling the legs of his sunglasses in his fingers. Finally, he asked, “What else did Matthew say about Thomas Speedle?”

The ringing of his cell phone cut shrilly though the air.

“Pick up, Horatio.” Yelina Salas held her cell phone in one hand and the innocent-looking piece of notebook paper in her other. She could hear Ray Jr. running around the house, as requested, checking for his younger cousin, HR. Horatio had asked Yelina to take his son with them when they evacuated, as he had to work, and the Columbian-American had been more than happy to take the well-behaved redhead.

Now, she was wishing she’d demanded Horatio had taken the day off to tend to his own child.

Finally, she heard the signal that Horatio’s phone had been answered. “Horatio?” the woman watched as her son came barreling down the steps, something she would normally have protested. At his breathless, “He’s not upstairs, Mom,” she nodded and said crisply, “Horatio, your son has run away.”

“What?” blue eyes widened in shock at the news about his normally well-behaved ten-year-old. “Do you know where he went?” He kept his voice as calm as possible, holding up a hand to stop the talk about Speed. The others fell respectfully silent, not asking why he didn’t just leave the lab to talk on the phone. It sounded like Horatio had a crisis on his hands.

“Okay,” he slowly drawled out the word, instinctively giving himself a couple of extra seconds to absorb the information. “So, his note says he's coming to the lab. Did it say why?”

Eyes narrowed and his voice grew even softer. “I don’t need rescuing.” Naturally he didn’t expect Yelina to respond to his comment, but respond she did, and quite vocally too. After a moment, Horatio cut her off. “When did he leave?”

Quickly, Horatio pulled over a notepad and scribbled on it, "HR on way here on bike. Left hour ago. Need find him.” He pushed the note towards his staff; they read it and rushed out, calling the names of different routes they’d take, Alexx claiming that she’d wait at the lab in case he got past everyone’s look out. It looked like hurricane rescue efforts were beginning before the storm even ended.

“The lab has bomb-proof windows, Yelina, it should be safe for you both here. You can come here with Ray Jr. The team went out to find HR.”

With an exasperated sound, Yelina bit out, “Right. We’ll be down as soon as we can. I’ll call you if I spot him on the way.” After only a minimal pause, however, the irate, worried woman shot one last remark at her brother-in-law, “Your son just endangered several people, Horatio. I think you’d teach him better than that.” It had been a callous comment, and later she would regret it. For the moment, however, the woman merely ordered her teenager into the car; they were heading to the lab instead of evacuating after all.

“Damn him!” Margaret Wilson-Caine slammed her hand against the door to her ex-husband’s condo and turned back into the wind and rain. She was livid. It had taken her hours to drive down from Orlando the night before, and she’d had trouble even getting a rental. The evacuation orders for Miami-Dade and Brower counties had spooked everyone, and she’d been getting stonewalled everywhere she turned. She really hated Miami.

Pushing long, wet black hair from her grey eyes, the reporter looked over the parking lot of the condominium complex. She didn’t spot anything remotely like Horatio’s taste in vehicles, confirming that the man wasn’t just ignoring her knocks; he was out. Wet, cold, and tired, Margaret headed down the stairs and slid into the too-tiny compact she’d finally managed to rent from a reluctant clerk.

I’ll kill the bastard!

It hadn’t been the best of news when she’d been told to leave Iraq. That had been a choice assignment, covering the war on terrorism, and suddenly, she’d been pulled. Her presence was disturbing to the local women, she’d been told, but she really knew it was the other reporters on the team who were disturbed; she was a better reporter than the lot of them, and they knew it. They’d offered her a transfer to California as a consolation and she’d snapped it up eagerly. She had always despised Miami, and was never very happy that Horatio had moved them down there from New York in the first place.

Heading home into a hurricane had been even worse news. She hated wind and rain, and Miami always seemed to have more than its fair share of both during the hurricane season, which to Peg seemed to last forever. She swore she’d get her son and just get out of there as quickly as possible.

Now, neither Horatio nor Junior were home. The final straw threatened to throw Peg into a rage, but she’d always had a steady temper in the fact of obstacles, or so she imagined. She would track the bum down to the lab and give him what for. She’d told the man that she hadn’t wanted their son’s head filled with cop stories and false glory; she should have known he’d have taken the very first opportunity to drag the kid from school and into that god-forsaken lab of his.

Peg wondered if she could get him charged with endangering the welfare of a child.

The woman drove towards the laboratory, trying to see in the whipping rain and branches. Signs were shaking and not a soul was in site, except a stupid kid with an oversized raincoat and hat, trying to peddle against the wind. Idiot parents for letting their kid out in this kind of weather. She told herself that if she hadn’t been on the way to get her own kid, she’d have picked the child up and taken him somewhere safe. Typical for Peg, she determined to ignore the plight of the sorry child on the bicycle and drove right by.